


A work around

by orphan_account



Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Anal Sex, Fantasy, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, flagshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 03:40:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7785352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deadshot has a fantasy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A work around

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-Leverage, I guess. I supposed I *had* to explain why Deadshot was so quick to accept that blowjob, although it works as a stand alone.
> 
> Never beta'd.

Time was never in short supply in Belle Reve. In between meals, visits to his daughter and the occasional foray out into the world with the rest of Task Force X, Floyd Lawton had more time on his hands than he knew what to do with. Occasionally he thought about taunting the guards, just for something to do, but knew that Waller’s patience would only stretch so far. To stop himself going stir-crazy, he developed what might, in another man, be called a “rich inner life.”   
He relived his best jobs a dozen times over. His best kills, the ones he even thought would fail. Missions with the squad were unravelled; he looked for angles, loose ends where he could have perhaps escaped. Or those times when Rick Flag had fucked up and he could have swung in and solved it. He imagined the sad life that Flag must live, outside these walls. He could walk away from Waller - with Enchantress gone, what was his excuse for staying? 

Floyd spent a lot more time thinking about Flag than he was happy with.

They fought constantly. It reminded him of the good old days with his ex-wife, before she had found out about his job. Even then they’d be at each other’s throats, flinging accusations and barbs at each other. It was unsettling, because those fights would usually turn into them on the floor or against the wall, spitting more insults and having some of the best sex they ever would have together. It was only when she got pregnant that things settled down; the calm before the storm. Honesty wasn’t the best policy, ever. 

The power cut at Belle Reve took everyone by surprise. Instead of it being some fiendish escape attempt, a storm took out the power lines and flooding killed the backup generators. The doors all locked manually but the cameras were out; no one was going anywhere but no one could see what was happening in the cells either. More time. Luckily, Floyd had an idea of how he could spend it. He lay in the darkness, naked under the scratchy blanket. His cock was already hard, just from the idea. It had been a long time.

He could just jerk one out, quick and fast. But he wanted to take his time. Time to look through that corner of his mind that he kept for such things. He thought about Harley, those shorts riding high and the curves of her breasts - any other time, any other place, yeah, it’d be good. But she’s almost too lightweight. He needs something to sink his teeth into.

Unbidden, an image arose in his mind; Flag hugging him, his neck a few inches away from Floyd’s mouth. The smell of sweat, the feeling of elation. He wasn’t a hugger, didn’t like the gentle, well intentioned affection. The thought of pushing Flag away and punching him in the jaw was almost as pleasurable as any image of a half-dressed Harley Quinn. Flag would look up at him, blood trickling out of his open mouth, stunned. He hadn’t had a weapon on him, had he? Even better. In his head, he pulls Flag up by the front of his shirt and punches him again. Flag struggles against him, tries to fight back, but Floyd’s the stronger man. There’s no one else in that room with them.

Floyd is disconcerted to find that he’s begun to stroke his cock. He pulls his hand away, not disgusted exactly, but - he puts June Moone back into the picture, half dressed, staring at them both, urging him on. Hurt him and you can have me, she says. But then he sees her like it actually was; smeared with filth, eyes wide with horror. He’s not that sort of guy. He’s...softening. Fuck. Perhaps this is a lost cause. He can’t drag anything up from his reserves. The only thing he wants to think about right now is his hands around Flag’s neck; the man’s eyes are filled with fear and rage, but suddenly, out of nowhere, he mouths the word

Harder

It wouldn’t be like this if the guy wasn’t being such a colossal asshole at the moment. Even more than usual. Ignoring him. Self righteous prick. It’s just that Floyd wants Flag under his boot, begging for his mercy. He wants the power balance to shift back in his favour, bomb in his neck or no. The line between sex and violence is...hazy with him. Not Harley Quinn style fucked up semi-abusive weirdness, but - his ex-wife used to scratch at him with her nails, and that thought gets him back on track. He doesn’t want to think about that crazy bitch, but the thought of really messing with Flag...well. He closes his eyes and settles in.

\- Flag’s apartment is nice; tidy and clean, in a good part of town. Floyd shouldn’t be able to just climb up the fire escape and in through an open window, because Flag should be smarter than that, but -

No. No, if he was going to jerk off to this, he wanted it to be an almost fair fight. 

...They’re scouting out a hotel, cleaning it out of hostiles. Well, that’s what they’re there for, officially. Flag’s com is jittering in and out, so he’s relying on Floyd for communication. Bad move, soldier boy. They get up to the top floor, the penthouse suite. There’s a spacious lounge and probably a big bed in the room next door. Perfect. He’s on Flag in seconds, ripping his earpiece out and pushing him onto the floor. The other man doesn’t even have time to react before Floyd is on top of him, stripping away anything that could be useful. Or could blow his head off. Flag’s struggling. Finally, all he has is his fists and his boots. And he uses them against Floyd, landing a good hit in every so often. But it’s not enough to get the upper hand. 

After grappling for a while, Floyd realises that Flag is hard. He reaches down and squeezes him through his pants. Flag grits his teeth.  
“You fucking sick freak,” Floyd laughs. Flag uses the opportunity to try and shove him forward, but Floyd keeps him pinned to the ground. He squeezes again, and the other man stares up at him, eyes full of rage and lust. Floyd leans forward, taking his hand off Flag’s dick and placing both of them on either side of Flag’s head. He leans forward until their lips are almost touching. They stay there for a moment, breathing each other’s air. Flag’s eyes close and he lifts his head, obviously wanting to be kissed.

Instead, Floyd takes one of his hands and shoves the side of his face into the plush carpet. He licks his lips, and sinks his teeth into the side of Flag’s exposed neck. That’s when all the fight goes out of the other man; when he finally submits. This is happening, and there’s nothing he can do about it. There’s nothing he wants to do about it, apart from take whatever it is that Floyd is going to give to him…

He actually has to stop stroking his cock and take a breather. He doesn’t want to come too quickly. He lays in the dark, and suddenly his chest is aching with want.  
...Flag finds himself being dragged to the bed. Floyd grins, then begins to undo his pants.   
“You’re enjoying yourself there, but I could use a bit of help.”  
A lie. He’s hard. But Flag gets down on his knees anyway. 

It’s weird getting blown by a guy - the facial hair takes some getting used to. But he knows what he’s doing, can take it far deeper than any straight guy should be able -  
“You suck a lot of dick, Flag?”  
There’s that look again, rage and lust. If he’s not careful he’ll just come in Flag’s mouth. Or maybe he’ll pull out and give him a load in the face. But as fun as that is - fuck. Flag is really going for it now, lips and tongue and teeth. And he’s starting moaning around Floyd’s cock. He groans himself, closes his eyes, and begins to fuck that eager mouth, his hands on the back of the other man’s head, hands buried in his hair. Then, abruptly, Flag pulls away, eyes filled with tears, panting. The cold air brings Floyd back down, and he stares at Flag before pulling him onto his feet.   
“Now,” he says quietly. “Find some lube, or I’m going in dry.”  
He wouldn’t, but Flag doesn’t know that. Any sane man would have cut and run by now. It’s clear that he won’t. Floyd draws his own conclusions. 

The small tube lands on the bed. Floyd picks it up, raises an eyebrow and jerks his head towards the bed.  
“Bend over, soldier boy.”  
Flag slowly undoes his belt, his pants and then drops them - but keeps his boots on.  
“I said,” Floyd murmurs, and shoves him face first into the bed, “Bend over. Or you won’t get any. I know you want it and -” he’s running his unlubed hand between Flag’s legs, and finds that they are sticky. “Jesus. What happened here? Did you come in your pants while you were sucking my dick, Flag?”  
Flag exhales.  
“Yeah.”  
“You’ve wanted this, haven’t you? You’ve thought about it.”  
Floyd’s never had anal sex with a guy before, but he knows the deal. He circles a lube covered finger around Flag’s hole, which makes the other man twitch. Then he slowly begins to press it in. Flag shudders.  
“Answer me.”  
“Yeah. I’ve thought about it.”  
Another finger goes in, and Floyd begins to stretch him. He wraps one of his hands around Flag’s hip to steady him, because the other man has started to shake harder. The third finger - Jesus, he can’t wait until he gets his cock into this, tight and hot and now slick - 

He nearly comes as soon as he’s balls deep. But a few deep breaths later, his thrusts are hard and fast. Flag comes again, untouched. He comes begging, and keeps going after, until all coherence is fucked right out of him and he’s just a sobbing mess in Floyd’s hands. It takes some of the force out of his thrusts but Floyd can’t help himself - he leans forward, his chest to Flag’s back, and yanks him by the hair until their faces are close. And then they kiss, tongues and teeth, and he’s coming, hard-

And is back in his cold bed, surrounded by bare concrete walls. He wonders what the hell that was all about. His balls must have been truly blue. As he wipes himself off with a piece of toilet paper, the screaming starts. Croc must have got out again. He climbs back into bed, the darkness suffocating. He’s slept in worse, noisier places than this. But not, he thinks, with this sick longing in his chest.


End file.
